*
poetry falls
as pigment
on wet paper
.
creating a world
of beauty
.
marveling
at the smooth
escape door
.
.
.
*
poetry falls
as pigment
on wet paper
.
creating a world
of beauty
.
marveling
at the smooth
escape door
.
.
.
*
I write
a ladder
to heaven
upward
I hold
as seen
in my morning
dream
.
.
.
*
mind not to make
assumptions about
the man you love
not to project on him
the beauty you hold
or wish to be there
.
.
.
*
the light will hit you
gloriously when in the midst
of nothing you’ll see
everything
.
.
*
my feelings this time
don’t want to stay on
paper or even reach it
there’s is a modesty
to them as they rise
from my aging family
I move from pangs
of anxious pain to
serenity as giving
honor to vulnerability
brought forth a new
sweetness to be
savored alone
.
.
.
*
awakening to
having no
choice that
to have a job
that holds me
between the earth
and the sky
*
I am a drawing compass
one feet pointed the soft
one bent on a dance to
go from here to there to
close the circles to jump
out to run free today
.
.
.
.
*
early this morning
the sun kissed
the tips of grass
like light
bulbs turned on
one at a time
to brighten the
soggy meadow
.
.
.
*
there is that voice inside
that opens our eyes to
.
a secret mirror reflecting
.
our deepest nature to
our absolute beauty
.
.
.
*
I’m at loss
describing beauty
a godly attribute
.
words aligned as pearls
.
to become a necklace
and I can’t find
the thread
.
.
.
.
*
how do we become
is there a law
past human knowledge
how to be
candid and transparent
opalescent
almost gone while here
.
.
.
*
being there
one day
where the sound
of butterflies wings
could be heard
stretched on a smile
attentive to my
body changes
on the awe of gratitude
cracking away
a bit at a time
to deeper life
.
.
.
This poem is part of the published collection California Notebooks 02
.
*
it comes up
as water gushing
out of a broken pipe
the flood of tears
when I sit face
to face poetry
meeting me
.
.
.
.
*
those are places
geographical ones
pins on paper
tips of pens
thoughts of now
lived before
in a dream
we walked
not crossing
eyes shut
if we look the
weft increases
knowledge of
different places
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02
.
.
*
we are here
softly abandoned
glaring at the shadow of
an airplane on the ground
one of those luminous day
where every detail is out
for count and thanksgiving
following a time dark as
the night upon which we
both struggled with
eyes wide open to
no avail in fear
.
.
.
This poem appears in the first volume of the “California Notebooks”.
.